I'm not a fan of spatulas, not when the pancakes burn and their gilt edges look pretentious. Perhaps ostentatious is a better word when mahogany is used in the kitchen. I feel a lot of guilt, mostly over silly things I can't change, so sew me a quilt of pockets in which to store my regrets.
I won't say I got especially drunk, but a few nights later there was a skunk, and I'm thinking that if you had stopped to ask his name, he would have introduced himself as Alfred. However, all this talk of individuality has got me thinking of the polyester comforter in beige she sewed and how there was once that mix-up with my former Sunday school teacher and a national holiday that didn't exist. Does a bigger beard make a man a better prophet?
When a person stops to contemplate a grass blade, the whole world opens up in wonder. What good does greenery do? I'm telling you, it's not so much the greenery and more the change of scenery that's what makes a person whole. Thankfulness won't come in pieces, and God's grace is one of those intricate jigsaw puzzles spread out on a table in your heart as it gets glued with love and matted and framed with goodness.
It's not that I'm in love with my billing office, it's just that I'm thinking of someone else when I put the stamp on. And I've tried to keep my thoughts quiet, but forget wearing my heart on my sleeve, I'm a bank window with paper cutout promises. But if you ever think of me, I'm thinking you might have a deficit on your account.
Just because there's no way I left the oven on when I left the house doesn't mean I don't have the right to check.
2 am coffee rings on my bedside table procrastination at the expense of a letter grade Nana's hand-stitched quilt has never felt so soft But her funeral hit me hard That quilt draped over her coffin matched the color scheme of the one she made for a little girl who love butterflies and spring time I remember pool side juice boxes stuffed animals from a pretty lady she was nice to me her mom was mean to her she cried at the funeral Nana was a better mother to her than her own ever dared to be her sister found cigarettes shes so thin now I remember her lipstick its always been red it looks so red on her skin the color of the ash that falls from her stick matching the skin of Papa Nana's son He sang at her funeral He cried the whole time Everyone cried Not me but I cant cry Jade Green words she read them spotty reading with bad rehearsal but I remember her and I and him and my brother juice boxes quilts that pool its all her and I wish I had known her well enough to miss her
My Nana's funeral was today. Her quilt is still in my room. She made us a few. It means a lot more now that im out of chances to thank her for it.